


Bedside Manners

by Scruggzi



Series: A Bit of Biff [2]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: And that is exactly what he needs, Don't worry Jack's willy is fine, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Smut, Phryne has no patience for Jack's man pain, Sandwiches, snacking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 01:39:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18511303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: After the unfortunate events of Private Concerns Jack heads to Wardlow for supper.





	Bedside Manners

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Geenee27 for the beta 😘

Jack headed up the garden path to Wardlow, still limping a little but a lot less sore than he had been that morning. Phryne’s visit had helped in more ways than one; he had lost his breakfast to the combination of blows to his groin and stomach, so the lunch had been very welcome. More than that though, although he was reluctant to admit it, he had needed her refusal to allow him to sulk.

He rang the bell and Phryne’s front door was answered almost at once by Mr Butler who greeted him with his usual professional civility and took his hat and coat.

“Miss Fisher requested that you join her upstairs, Inspector. I’ve laid out a spot of supper for you both and I took the liberty of running you a hot bath.”

Jack, who was still not entirely used to the idea of being waited on, or to the way his private relations with Phryne were so routinely accommodated by her staff, felt his ears flush red as he muttered his thanks and headed up the stairs towards Phryne’s boudoir.

Phryne was lounging on the chaise in a blue silk robe embroidered with pale trees and birds. Her face was free of makeup and her feet, when she rose to greet him, were encased in soft satin slippers; the lack of heels meant he had to bend his head to kiss her hello. It was always a little shock to be reminded just how small she could be when she removed her social armour. The gesture did not go unremarked, it was an invitation for him too to lay down arms and it wasn’t until he saw it that he realised how welcome that invitation was.

Reflecting on his less than courteous behaviour that afternoon he decided to begin with a peace offering.

“I asked Hugh about that suspect you were looking into. No official record, but apparently, he was let off on a robbery charge after pointing the finger at a fence with serious criminal connections. I can’t imagine he’s too popular in some quarters.”

“Good work Hugh! You’ll have competition before long, Inspector.”

It didn’t sting. He was a grown man and more than happy that the next generation of officers had men like Hugh Collins in it. It was just coincidence that his bruises chose that moment to twinge in regret and remind him he was not as young as he used to be.

Phryne of course noticed. She always noticed. Not that she said anything, but he saw the way her eyes narrowed, the pain must have shown on his face.

“Well, as you managed to make it up the stairs without Mr Butler’s assistance, I’ll assume you’re not at death’s door quite yet. You may have a temporary reprieve before I examine you for injury. Would you prefer supper first or a hot bath?”

He gave in.

“A bath would be wonderful. I’m afraid I didn’t have time to change after my shift.”

“Well between Dot and Mr Butler I’m sure you suit can be salvaged in time for your next one.” She raked her eyes down his trousers in the faintly territorial way that still made him feel a little weak at the knees, grown man or not. “That really is a terribly unfortunate location for a boot mark.”

He scowled, the incident still far too fresh for him to see the funny side, but his mood improved considerably once he had settled into the bath, glass of whisky in hand. The water was laced with something that smelled like eucalyptus, a little medicinal but more pleasant than the carbolic soap he used at home. It smarted a little when he first got in but after a few minutes he felt the aches start to drain from his bones, the whisky warming him from the inside out.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened?”

He stiffened a little at the question.

“I told you what happened. I had an altercation with an uncooperative suspect.” Phryne raised her eyes in invitation to elaborate and he continued reluctantly, “He was hiding behind some crates in an alley and I failed to spot him.” He sounded petulant even to his own ears.

“Must have been quite the criminal mastermind to catch you in an ambush.”

“Hardly. Just a momentary lapse of concentration, and not being as young as I was.”

The self-recrimination in his voice did not curry favour with Phryne.

 “Well you seemed to have suffered more than enough for that already and I’m not quite willing to give you a clean bill of health just yet, although at a first glance, the consequences don’t appear to have been that dire.”

The glance in question was rather more suggestive than her words and it teased a tiny smile onto his face despite himself. Phryne downed the whisky she had been swilling in her glass and moved behind him, he winced a little as he tried to twist round to see what she was up to, then decided better of it. There was a soft slither of silk as she discarded her dressing gown and a clink of glass, then gentle, soapy fingers tangled in his hair.

She was such a chaos of contradictions; clearly on the verge of actually ordering him to stop sulking, and not for the first time, but with a touch was so gentle he could feel himself melting, his aches and pains dissolving into a puddle of warm contentment. He felt soft lips brush the base of his neck and even Jack Robinson could not maintain a sullen disposition under that kind of assault.

“It could have been a lot worse, if Hugh hadn’t been there.” He admitted, realising as he did so that it was a confession he would never have made to Rosie; after the war and all she had been through, he’d felt the need to protect her from his own mortality.

Phryne did not want or need his protection from anything. At least no more than he needed hers.

“Then it’s a good thing he was there. And a good thing he was trained by the best.”

She wasn’t teasing, and her sincerity in that moment was more than he felt he deserved. She finished with his hair and moved round the tub and pulled up a stool next to him and he could feel the focused attention of her detective’s gaze on his face. Doubtless she could see the guilt in his eyes, she always seemed able to read him, even when no-one else could.

He dunked his head under the water to wash off the soap, running his fingers through his hair, feeling the waxy pomade melt away. Phryne had told him once that she loved his unkempt hair, that it felt like sharing a secret to see him without his armour in place.

He could tell her; he could trust her to be fair and not to offer reassurances unless they were deserved. She was quite possibly the kindest, most generous person he had ever met, but she did not sugar coat the truth. Not with him. It was a mark of respect he wholeheartedly appreciated.

“Peters was there. It was supposed to be an evaluation; Hugh’s been showing him the ropes.” He explained, meeting her eyes and willing her to understand.

It had been a moment’s inattention. Their suspect had made a run for it into the warren of allies that dominated that part of Fitzroy and the three of them had split up to try and corner him. He had found Jack first and caught him from behind. _Stupid_. Hugh had rushed in moments later with Peters just behind him, but Jack was already down and heaving his guts up on the filthy alley floor.

It wasn’t the pain that had worried him. It wasn’t even shame at being caught off guard. It was the look of fear he saw in the young constable’s eyes when he looked at Peters. He’d seen that look before, on the streets and in the trenches. It was the kind of fear that could get a man killed.

“Something of a baptism of fire. Nothing like seeing your hero knocked down to remind a young man of his own mortality”. Phryne observed, taking his meaning at once.

“Hero, Miss Fisher?” He huffed at her turn of phrase but was inwardly grateful not to have to explain further. He never did with her.

Phryne of course did not give him an inch.

“Come on, Jack. You’re his commanding officer, and probably the best detective in the city, at least officially. Anyone can see the young constables look up to you.”

“Only officially?” he deflected with a small smirk.

“Well I have it on good authority that there’s a private detective who can give you a run for your money.”

“Really? You must introduce me.”

She shot him a sarcastic look and he reached a wet hand out to kiss her, recklessly spotting the peach satin of her pyjamas and telling her without words how much he understood and appreciated everything she was doing for him, how perfectly she had judged the kind of care he needed. He had no intention of admitting it out loud, but this evening she was proving to be the better detective by far.

When he pulled back, she looked a little dazed, which was always a gratifying sight. Her eyes told him she had heard every word he hadn’t said, but she continued their discussion without comment as if it had never been interrupted, and with barely a crack in her voice to betray what they had shared.

“How did he take it, Peters I mean?”

“He was rattled, I think.”

“So, you soldiered on stoically hoping to set a good example?”

“Something like that.”

Phryne had redonned her robe and was handing him a towel, smiling like a woman who knew him far too well.

“Well, I promise not to tell him about the cushion.”

He rolled his eyes at her, stepping out of the bath to dry himself off before following her through to the bedroom.

_Soldiering on._ He hadn’t really thought about it in those terms. He’d been hurt, the blow to the head had left him groggy and disoriented, but he was the commanding officer and he had to be seen to command. That’s how you kept your men safe, you kept your nerve and stayed calm, that way they could too. That way they stayed alive. Not exactly civilian thinking now he that had time to reflect on it. He would have to talk to Peters tomorrow, make sure he was alright.

By the time he joined Phryne once again she had produced a large silver platter of sandwiches from gods knew where and placed it on one side of the bed. She had also replaced her whisky with a coupe of chilled champagne, passing one to Jack as he entered and gesturing for him to take his place next to their supper.

“Towel off, Inspector. I still have to check you over for injuries.”

He did as he was bid, but apart from another appreciative glance at his casually naked body, Phryne did not seem in a huge hurry to play nursemaid. Instead she munched happily on a sandwich, washing it down with champagne before pouring a second glass.

The woman had a constitution of iron when it came to alcohol; Jack wondered how many men had missed out on a night in her bed by drinking themselves into a stupor in the vain attempt to keep up with her. More than a few, he suspected. He usually tended to pace himself, a copper’s habit, wanting to be the one with the clear head who remembered all the incriminating evidence, although Phryne had been known to lead him astray once or twice...

He drained his glass in one, the bubbles making him feel pleasantly light headed, climbed gingerly onto the bed and selected a sandwich for himself. They were his favourite and he hummed in satisfaction as the savoury flavours hit his pallet; he had yet to discover Mr Butler’s secret when it came to the mustard pickle, but Jack was a patient man and he was working on it.

Phryne finished her sandwich and wiped off the crumbs on a napkin, then reached across to the dresser for a large jar of arnica, evidently placed there in readiness, and advanced on Jack with intent to heal.

“What puzzles me Inspector,” he knew that tone and it was far too innocent, “is why you bothered hiding your injuries from me? You can’t have thought I’d lose my nerve over it. Or were you worried I’d attempt to exact vengeance on your behalf?”

She was leant in close, dabbing the soothing balm onto the cut above his eye. At this distance he could see her every freckle, the little wrinkles normally hidden from public view by powder and charisma, all the tiny imperfections he was privileged to see.

“Definitely the latter, it would have caused no end of paperwork and I wouldn’t have wanted to be late for supper, these sandwiches are a particular favourite.”

“I know.”

A gentle caress to his jaw, satisfied that he was whole, not a chastisement for his stoicism, just a quiet reminder that he no longer needed to shoulder every burden alone.

“I didn’t want a fuss.” He admitted. “It was my own fault; I should have seen him coming.”

“Well in that case,” she picked up the plate of sandwiches and made to move them out of his reach, “I’ll call Mr Butler to collect these at once. Ensure you are properly chastised for your laxity.”

Her refusal to accept his self-deprecation was, in its own way, as soothing as the balm she had rubbed into his wound. He glared at her in mock recrimination and retrieved the sandwiches before they escaped. She smirked in victory and his eyes softened in honest appreciation for her own brand of care, feeling happier than he could have imagined given the way his day had started.

Phryne however was not finished. She left Jack to enjoy his supper whilst carefully scrutinising the marks to his abdomen, feeling with a nurse’s skill for deeper injuries and broken bones. For all her teasing she appeared to be taking the medical aspect of this seriously, there really was no end to her talents.

A slow contented smile wrapped itself around the next bite of his sandwich as she declared him structurally sound, placing gentle kisses across the places where broken skin and bruises marred his torso. Her fingers as she began to apply the arnica were perhaps a touch more sensual than they had been. Not enough to tease, just enough to remind him that he was a very lucky man.

This thought was redoubled as she moved lower, her hands parting his thighs to examine him with the singular focus of a detective. It was somewhat unnerving, which was ridiculous really. Over the past few months she had seen him in all manner of states, several arguably more vulnerable than simply nude; at least he had full use of his hands this time. Even so, there was something about the analytical judgement on her face, as she carefully manoeuvred his most sensitive organs back and forth, that felt more disconcerting than arousing. He drained his second glass of champagne and reached for another sandwich in self-defence.

Phryne looked up, apparently satisfied.

“You had a lucky escape, Jack.” She told him.

“Funny, can’t say it felt like it at the time.”

“The impact is heel first and that hit your thigh, just here,” she dabbed a little arnica onto the bruise.

Her touch undid him at the best of times, but right now she was also being _clever_. Jack didn’t stand a chance and they both knew it.

“The flat of the shoe hit you…higher up…but without the same force. It doesn’t seem to have damaged anything important.”

This was becoming rather evident, somewhat to Jack’s surprise given the nature of his injuries. Perhaps if they were gentle…

“Good to know.” His voice had dropped low, and her eyes were twinkling up at him, clearly reading his mind.

“There,” she screwed the lid back on the arnica jar and placed it on the dresser, her sudden departure from between his thighs a great disappointment. “Finish your supper, Inspector, I’ll be right back.”

She departed to the bathroom to wash the residue of the cream off of her hands and Jack shrugged, taking a final sandwich to eat whilst he waited. He really must get that recipe for mustard pickle from Mr Butler somehow, perhaps he could arrange to be in the kitchen whilst it was being prepared.

When Phryne returned, Jack assumed she intended to join him at the head of the bed and shifted himself and the plate of sandwiches to the side to make room, popping the last bite into his mouth as he did so. He had every intention of suggesting that he might not be quite as out of commission as he had previously thought as soon as it was finished.

Phryne however had pre-empted him and he almost choked on cheese and ham when her lips fastened themselves around the head of his cock, which hardened swiftly under the deft ministrations of her tongue.

He swallowed hard.

_“Fucking-hell, Phryne you can’t do that to a man when he’s got his mouth full!”_

He could feel the tremors of her laughter all the way down his shaft, she let him go, met his eyes and before long the two of them were utterly lost to mirth, shaking with a joy that smarted his bruised ribs, but still wouldn’t stop.

When they finally wiped the tears from their faces they were wrapped in each other’s arms, a warm world away from the way his day had started. They kissed long and slow, a gentle contented loving that flowed around them and over them like a swell of warm, scented water. They came quietly, together, and Jack, who had never been a religious man by any description, could not recall a time when he had felt so utterly blessed.

Phryne Fisher really did have a bedside manner that was second to none.


End file.
